Page 41 of Accidentally Forever

And right now, all that wealth is standing in front of us, exuding the kind of effortless arrogance that only comes with having too much. Nolan’s expression shifts slightly as he takes in Violet’s presence.

"This is Violet," I say smoothly, voice even, perfectly practiced. "My assistant."

Violet side-eyes me so hard it’s a miracle I don’t drop dead on the spot. The sharp inhale of breath tells me she’s about to argue, but I don’t give her the chance. Nolan barely seems to care, nodding in approval before gesturing lazily toward the hallway. If he knew I was bringing my mate, this would be a different conversation about professionalism and I don’t need to hear that from him.

"The dining hall is the one we need outfitted. Once you’ve had a look, we can talk details," Nolan says, already half-distracted, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

I guide Violet toward the dining hall before she can say something that’ll piss Nolan off. She lets me, though I can feel the tension in her shoulders. The second we step inside, she stops short, eyes widening as she takes in the sheer absurdity of the space as well.

A chandelier the size of a damn car hangs overhead, its golden light reflecting off a table so massive it could easily seat twenty, maybe more. The chairs are ridiculous—ornate, gilded things that probably haven’t been sat in more than once or twice. Along the walls, pretentious art stares back at us, pieces so carefully curated they practically reek of look how much money I have.

Violet turns to me slowly, pointing at everything in one sweeping motion. "I thought you were joking but you really just make the room look pretty and then they pay you?"

I chuckle, hands shoved into my pockets. "Pretty much."

She snorts, shaking her head as she wanders deeper into the room, dragging her fingers along the back of one of the chairs, probably judging how completely unnecessary it is. I watch her. The way she moves, the way she fits here even though she doesn’t realize it. She might not have come from money, might not have grown up around shit like this, but it doesn’t intimidate her. She doesn’t shrink in spaces like these.

I shake myself out of it before I start thinking too hard. "I’ll be back in a few," I say, and she waves me off, already fixated on the monstrosity of a centerpiece, poking at it like it personally offends her.

I head toward the client’s private lounge, the rich, smoky scent of aged whiskey lingering in the air before I even step inside. Nolan’s already pouring themselves another drink, the casual ease of his movements suggesting he’s been at it for a while. "Gray," he sighs, swirling the liquor, watching the way it catches the light. "You’ve been busy."

Leaning against the doorway, I roll my shoulders. "You know how it is."

Nolan doesn’t even pretend to be impressed, giving me a long, assessing look. "The rumors are getting worse." He takes an obnoxious sip, his gaze unwavering from mine. "There’s been no public statement," he continues. "And in our world, silence is an admission of guilt."

I force a smile. "We’re handling it."

"I’d hate to see your business get dragged through the mud over something like this," Nolan muses but the weight behind his words is anything but light. The line between business and warning is thin.

Crossing my arms, I hold his gaze. "That a warning?"

A shrug. "A friendly one." He then turns the conversation. "I heard you’ve added to your pack. Congratulations. Because we both know that you didn’t bring yourassistant. Just be careful," he murmurs. "There’s going to be legal issues coming your way. Prepare for that."

If Nolan wasn’t one of the better clients, I’d think he was threatening me but I take his words to heart anyway. “If you think this could hurt your reputation, why did you still want me to come?”

Nolan tilts his head just slightly, like he’s reassessing me, like he’s deciding whether I’m worth giving a real answer to. “You have an eye for art. You’re not stupid and you would never tarnish your brand with such nonsense.”

“No,” I smirk. “I wouldn’t. I’ll have something drawn up for you by the end of the day.”

I dip out of the room before Nolan can continue the conversation so that I can return to Violet. She’s standing near the table, bottom lip caught between her teeth, fingers hovering just over the extravagant centerpiece, her entire body angled like she’s already breaking the room down piece by piece in her mind.

She doesn’t notice me at first, too caught up in whatever thought has taken hold of her. Her eyes flick from the chandelier to the paintings, then to the table itself, the wheels turning fast, the calculations already being made before she’s even conscious of them. I lean against the doorway, watching for a second longer than I probably should.

“What’s on your mind, princess?”

Her eyes snap to mine and then she just starts talking, spilling thoughts like she’s been waiting for someone to listen. She explains that the lighting clashes with the texture of the walls. The chandelier, while impressive, makes the room feel cold. The table is stunning but needs better contrast with the chairs. If they’d actually let her, she could make the entire space feel less like a museum and more like a place people actually want to eat in.

She keeps going, each detail sharp, precise, slipping from her lips with an ease that shouldn’t come from someone who isn’t in this business.

And I just watch. Listen. Because fuck, she’s brilliant. I’ve been doing this for years, but the way she sees things, the way she dissects a space without hesitation, without even realizing she’s doing it—it’s like watching someone who was made for this.

“You been holding out on me, princess? Because you talk like someone who should be getting paid for this.” Her lips part, but there’s hesitation now. The briefest flicker of doubt before she can even let herself consider the thought. I don’t let her shut it down. “You’re good at this. Really good. All I have to do is teach you some of the acronyms and other bullshit and you’d be amazing.”

Violet laughs, a soft barely there sound as I pull her toward me. Her warmth seeps into me, her scent curling in my lungs, a warm jasmine, something I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of. "God, I’ve missed that sound," the words come low, almost a growl, slipping past my lips as I press gentle kisses down the column of her throat.

She tilts her head, just slightly, just enough to let me have more, and I don’t waste the opportunity. My teeth graze the spot just beneath her ear, the place I know will send a shiver down her spine. She sucks in a breath, but she’s trying—really trying—to keep her thoughts straight, to stay focused on something other than my hands gripping the fabric of her dress, the way my fingers flex like I’m barely keeping myself in check.

"I worked in art galleries for a long time," she pushes out. "Even before that, I liked making things look pretty."

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